You are gracious beyond measure
Patient for eons beyond counting
Your love is faithfully ever-sure
Your will ever onward marching
Though every man a liar be
Faithful is timeless He
Ever tender, ever warm
Even to me, a lowly worm.
No father better to be had,
Than He who will dress the wounds
Of the ones who drove the nails;
Who loved His children onto a tree,
Where He hanged that they might live,
And rose again to take them Home.
Father, I want to go home.
From the City on a Hill 